


Hijacking

by Trojie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s09e02 Devil May Care, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Possession, Season/Series 09, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it was only a threat, but it strikes a little close to home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hijacking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hoodie_time's Dean-centric hurt-comfort commentfic meme.

The list of things that don't frighten Dean Winchester is a mile long and has footnotes and three appendices. 

But it doesn't include this. 

Abaddon smiles at him, and he can't move a muscle, can't fight back. He's at her mercy. 'You know, I've loved this body since the first moment I saw it,' she says. 'You're the perfect vessel, Dean. You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas. So go ahead and play hard to get, and I'll peel off this 'no demons allowed' tattoo and blow smoke up your ass.'

She means it. Dean can see it in her pretty, pretty eyes. She's all ready to smoke out of that vintage body and slide on into his. 

Everything else she says doesn't really register, because yeah, Dean knows the sound of innocent girls screaming, yadda yadda yadda. That doesn't even touch him any more. That's not a threat. But possession's another ball-game. Fuck, how did Sam face this? How did Sam say yes to Lucifer, after Meg? And he's walking around with another one in his skin right now because of Dean, and here Dean is, terrified of the same thing happening to him. He's such a hypocrite.

'It's gonna feel so good in there, I can tell,' Abaddon says, close enough to kiss him. Intimate. Dean's skin crawls. 'I'm gonna sink in, Dean, sink into you deep, and you're gonna be tight and perfect and warm around me. You were bred for this, baby, but no-one's ever taken advantage, have they?'

'That's because I have a little something I like to call self-respect,' Dean drawls. 'And somehow I don't think you'd respect me in the morning, _baby_.'

He can control his voice. He can control his limbs, his every reaction, because he's trained to for so long that it's second-nature. But Abaddon doesn't even look at him trying. She just smiles into his eyes, and knows. 

'Methink the lady doth protest too much, sugar,' she purrs. 'I'm gonna be your first. I'm gonna be your only.' She drags a hand down his chest. 'I'm gonna ride you hard and put you away oh so very wet, don't you worry about that. I know you like it to hurt. Believe me, I can take care of that for you.'

She smiles, and digs her fingernails into Dean's skin, into his tattoo, his safety net. He braces himself - and there's the sound of the safety on Sam's Taurus being taken off. Dean would know that noise anywhere. And then -

'You're not going to get a chance,' growls Sam.

Dean takes a faceful of blowback, gets the taste of demon-blood, sulphur and iron all over him. Abaddon vanishes and suddenly all Dean can see is Sam, catching him before he falls. 

***

Dean drinks his entire flask of holy water on the way back to the bunker. He nips at it, pretends it's whiskey when Sam looks at him, but he finishes it too fast and there are still miles to go, and tattoos can be removed, and wards can be erased, and Sam put Ruby's knife in the trunk with all the rest of their gear on autopilot. Dean isn't freaking out, okay, he's just got legitimate reasons to be cautious about this. Demons aren't like angels, they don't have to ask permission. He needs to be ready.

When Sam pulls over for gas he comes back with a bottle of water and fishes a rosary out of his pocket, and dumps them both in Dean's lap.

***

Sam lets Dean get himself inside. He's not 100% sure Dean will make it down the stairs, to be honest, but it's better for everyone's dignity if he lets Dean fall and has to pick him up than if he assumes Dean can't look after himself from the get-go. He stays back to chuck a few things into his duffle from the trunk.

He heard what Abaddon said to Dean. Enough of it to know what she was threatening him with. Sam knows full well what a horror-show that is and he's not surprised Dean spent the drive back practically drowning himself in holy water. 

He assumes Dean will go to his room, or maybe the kitchen, but he finds him in the bathroom. In the harsh, clinical light Sam can see Abaddon's blood has dried all over Dean's face and neck, and Dean's scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing. The blood washes off but the redness from the washcloth just gets worse, and apparently Dean can't tell the difference because he keeps dragging the cloth over his skin. Sooner or later he's going to make himself bleed. 

'Ookay, Lady Macbeth,' Sam says, coming up behind him and taking the washcloth away. 'I think you're clean enough.'

Dean stares at himself in the mirror blankly. 'How do you know?' he says. 'Sammy, she could have - she had me. She could be in me right now and you wouldn't know.'

'I'd know,' Sam insists, pulling Dean away from the mirror. 'Trust me, Dean, I'd know.'

He smooths his hands down Dean's body, checking for injury. Pushes at old sore spots to see if they're tender, curls one hand around Dean's bad shoulder testing the tension there, rubs at his neck and down his spine where the tension is all collected, and Dean stays stiff as a board but he doesn't push away. 

'Would I?' Dean asks, and Sam's heart breaks for him one more time. 'If she was in me, but she was letting me drive for now, would I know?' He tenses up again despite Sam kneading his back. 'Sam, she scratched me, she scratched my tattoo -' he's pushing away and scrabbling at the neck of his shirt. 

'Hey,' Sam says, grabbing his hands before he can scratch himself up more. 'Dean, Dean, hey. Hey. Calm down. Let me check.' The t-shirt's old, and Dean's shaking enough that Sam hears a rip as he pulls it off over Dean's head. 

There's a nasty red scratch right across the pentacle but none of the lines are broken. 'Your hide's still demon-proof, Dean, it's okay,' Sam says, rubbing the pad of his finger as soothingly as he can over the sore spot.

Dean sags, and Sam pulls him back in. No pretence this time - he's just holding his brother the way he needs to be held and for once Dean is letting him. 'You'd know, Dean,' Sam says softly. 'You'd feel it inside you, no matter how good it was hiding.' He puts every ounce of conviction he has into saying it, and hopes Dean hears it. It's the truth, after all.

Dean buries his face in Sam's shoulder and doesn't answer.


End file.
